My Ending is My Beginning

Note and Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the character to C.S.I., but the character of Maggie O'Keefe and other fictional characters I have created DO belong to me, so if want to use them, please email me with permission first. This is the second story featuring Maggie, set a few years after leaving Vegas. Enjoy and many thanks!

Prologue: May, 2008

So, here I am again, on another plane heading back to Las Vegas. And this time, after more than three years of leaving it all behind, I'm finally coming back to the city I left behind, a city I thought I'd be leaving behind for good once I came back to live in Connecticut again.

I was wrong, so wrong. And it happened like this…

Almost a week ago, I had a call from Gil Grissom, the night shift supervisor from the Las Vegas crime lab (he has been keeping in touch with me on occasion after I left Sin City a few years before). Crying softly – unusual for him, as I've always seen him stoic or interested in his insect collection in his office – he told me of the murder of Warrick Brown and how he found him in his car in an alleyway, shot in the driver side. Grissom had dragged Warrick out of the car and tried to get him to talk, but he had nothing but garbled words.

Grissom's voice kept cracking, telling me how much he'd miss the C.S.I. and the torment he went through, trying to get his co-worker to talk about his murderer and what happened, but nothing else came out of his mouth. Warrick had died in Grissom's bloodied arms.

I was devastated. Warrick Brown had been kind to me, although we had a rocky start when I began working on the night shift with him. He kept Nick in check for me when we had our relationship. Well, even before then, Warrick kept a good eye out and was caring to everybody around him. He told me once that Grissom had taught him that – always indirectly, of course, in a way – and it helped him to thaw out his icy heart. He had a rough childhood in Vegas, I was told, and certain behaviors on cases were brought out by his upbringing.

"The funeral is in a week," Grissom said, trying to control himself after a few minutes of silence. "The investigation into his murder has been concluded. We found out that there had been moles in the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and…and they framed Warrick…"

"Shhh, Grissom, it's ok." I sounded like I was comforting my son, Michael, when he was upset and wanted somebody to just hold him. "I understand. It's ok. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll take the first flight out of here."

Of course, the first flight out of Connecticut wasn't until a few days later. I wanted to go immediately – trying to explain everything to my nearly four-year-old son was tough – but it was impossible to go at that rate. Watching my step in the South End of Hartford was one thing. Another was trying to persuade my boyfriend, Eric Jacobson, to fly out to Vegas.

I couldn't leave and take my child out without his permission, really. I was stuck in our crappy apartment until he said so. That's a long story, though, and for another time.

And, well, I thought he was going to be pleased about flying out to Vegas. On the contrary, he was actually interested in moving there. He didn't want to visit the place. He wanted to live there, all of a sudden. Hartford seemed too poor for him.

"I was thinking about moving out to Vegas, anyhow," Eric said when I told him about the tragedy that fell upon my old friends, ignoring the fact that Warrick was murdered. "You could get your old job back, Maggie. Think about it. Go to the funeral, see them and ask for your job back. It's simple. You made enough money, much more so than here, and it's helped you get to a good start here. You had enough money for the three of us for a while there."

I gritted my teeth in reply, knowing I worked with the crime lab in Hartford for little money, as they heeded the words of Sheriff Mobley – gone, I heard – and Conrad Ecklie, my enemies back in Las Vegas. They said I was dangerous and my old – and new, of course – colleagues here listened to them, regardless of what I said. They ignored Grissom's words, of course, and went straight to the top.

"I might even get a job," Eric mused further, because I had not replied, thinking about the casinos, for sure. I knew he wasn't serious about working. He never had been.

"It's the end of Daycare for Michael," I added, thinking quickly to please this alcoholic boyfriend of mine. "He could start anew in Vegas again. It's easy to get an apartment there. I have the money to put in a security deposit. We could live for about a few months before I run out of money."

"Then do it!" Eric then, very suddenly, became the vengeful nightmare of mine: his red, flushing face was threatening me, scaring me. So, I obeyed him in an instant, obtaining an apartment via Craig's List and buying three tickets to Vegas online.

My boyfriend was pleased with me when I told him the news the next day, after sleeping off his hangover. It was a nightly thing, and I joined him when I got someone to watch Michael for a while, but it was rare. And that night, I ignored the invitation to join him and slept.

"Good girl, Maggie, good girl," Eric said the next night when I came back from work, praising me for being quick. "You've been getting better about obeying me. Just remember, I know what's best for you and Michael. You've been living a tough life before I came into the picture. Since you left that scumbag of a C.S.I., you've been better off. Don't you agree with me? I've been good to Michael and you, haven't I?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Eric," I replied automatically. "Now, honey dear, do you need anything from the store?" I had to ask it quickly, for Eric was always asking for food, beverages and liquor (something to cool him down when he didn't go to the bar). His poker buddies needed it, as well, and I had to keep on top of it.

A reply came to me, in the form of his back hand to my face. As I was sitting at the computer chair, showing him the results for proof of my obedience, I twisted backwards, hurting my neck and back.

"Of course I do, you little bitch!" Eric yelled. "Get out there, take the child, and get me come beer! And while you're at it, why don't you also get some sandwich meat and cheese? We're good on bread, but we need that stuff! Move on, Maggie, move it!"

I couldn't move, because he was in the way, but I slid out quickly, like a rat, around him, trying so hard not to displease him again. I especially did not want him to touch my son, the son of my parents' murderer: Jason Napolitano. I had protected him for the time Eric and I had been together, but it wasn't going to be long before he got to my son. I know it. I know in my heart that Michael was never going to be safe until Eric was gone from our lives. I just didn't know how to get rid of him…yet.

"Move it, Maggie! Hey, did I mention I wanted chips and dip as well?" I ran to Michael's room as I heard the reply, telling my child quickly to put some shoes on; we were going out to the store really fast.

"Why, Mommy?" Michael asked me as he sat on the bed. "Why are we going out now?"

"Because I said so," I almost snapped, but kept calm when I said it. "Eric wants some food and we're running low on it. We have to make dinner tonight, remember, Pumpkin?"

Michael jumped off of the bed and got his shoes out of his closet and held them out for me to put on and tie. "Oh, Michael, please, we have to hurry," I mumbled. "I'll tie them quickly. Let's go, Mommy wants to talk to you about moving away from here…"

And this is how I am back on a plane, heading back to Vegas. I talked to my son about moving, he accepted it (he did not like Hartford, I could tell) and we got on a plane to go to Vegas. We've been on this plane for about an hour now, my ass is sore, and I'm worrying. Oh, I really shouldn't, because my grieving will end and I'll be happier in Vegas, if you want to say that. I'll have another job, for sure, and will be happily working. I'll be happy with the new challenges facing me every time I go to work…

Who the HELL am I kidding? Life there will be hell, soon enough, and I have Eric to blame for it. Sure, I love the asshole. We got together two years before, when Michael was two. Meeting him at our favorite bar (soon to be my nightmare, of course), Eric was charming, handsome and anything else I could ask for when we met and I fell in love, the fool that I am. He helped me with the baby and would never complain about it…until a few months after I moved in with him in Hartford, started working at the crime lab again and slowly, let him take control of my life.

Well, I guess the best part about it this is my best friend, Ursula Kearns. She's been my best friend ever since I moved back to Hartford and has been working with me in the crime lab for the same amount of time. We share everything together – the same way Jackie Polsen and I did, a very long time ago – and she helps me, when I need it. She's also the only person Eric allows me to see. He likes her, too – pasty white skin, black eyes (well, almost), dark brown hair and an allure that will arouse any man – and allows her to come to our apartment any time of the day.

She's coming with us. Ursula is coming with me because she didn't want to be left behind in Hartford. I should be rejoicing. I mean, she gave up her job to be with me and to, hopefully, work with me, and yet…something isn't right here. I know there is something wrong here, but I don't know what yet.

I guess we'll find out when we get to Las Vegas.